Keep Watch By Night
by Zellcan'twrite
Summary: Hank McCoy does his best to look after Charles one night. Warning for angst and implied substance abuse. Not slash unless you want it to be.


**Keep Watch By Night**

**Author's note:**_ Throughout the fic are a few things marked with a symbol like this: _**[x]**. _I've included a few comments at the end of the fanfic on each of these subjects. Most of them are simply my thoughts on the matter._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>Hank McCoy hated very few things in the world.<p>

He hated shallowness. He'd been shallow once, looking for outer beauty rather than genuine appearances, with devastating consequences. He still blamed himself for driving Raven away. Now, too, he just couldn't afford to be shallow about his appearance. It had taken a great deal of time to get used to it, let alone be proud of it.

He hated wars. Many of them were pointless, and many others were fought over problems which could probably be solved by talking **[1]**. He hated one war in particular for taking so many of his colleagues and students away just when they'd been able to build something worthwhile.

But most of all, he hated uselessness. Which was exactly what he felt like he was right now.

Ever since the male students and teachers had been drafted, and the female students sent home due to a lack of qualified teachers, he'd been all but alone in the Xavier mansion. Most days, he hardly spoke at all, simply worked. Actually, the loneliness wasn't that bad. Hank wasn't a people person; crowds had always put him off. It was harder, in fact, when he happened to see the only other occupant of the mansion.

Hank still remembered when Charles Xavier's mere presence in a room brought him confidence. The other mutant had taught him to take pride first in his simian feet, then his whole appearance once he'd exacerbated his mutation. He'd been the one who had encouraged Hank to take up teaching when the school had opened, the one who had allowed Hank to wake him up at any hour with a new scientific discovery or a prototype for a new invention, the one who had always provided a listening ear if Hank had had a problem.

He hadn't been any of that for a very long time, though.

Something had broken in Charles over the years, Hank mused darkly one late evening as he walked back to his room from the labs. It had, of course, started on the beach in Cuba. Hank had been the one who had held Charles the entire, traumatic trip back to Miami. He had never told the others how his fur had been soaked with tears the whole way back, not just tears for the bullet wound in his back and the increasing numbness in his legs, but for Raven and Erik and the fact that the humans Charles believed so firmly in had turned on them. Hank knew his mentor and friend was hurt then, hurt more deeply than he had ever been before. It had been weeks before Charles was able to finally get out of bed and face the terrifying world once more, and Hank shouldn't have let Charles' eerie calm lull him into a sense of everything being alright. But somehow, Charles had been able to throw himself into the new school and the extensive cover-up of Cuba, and in doing so had seemed to move on. He had become more guarded and subdued, for sure, but he was still Charles. He, Sean, and Alex could live with a little more guarded-ness.

But then they'd lost the first member of their family since Cuba. Then the Vietnam War had taken more of their students and colleagues. Then Alex had been drafted, leaving Charles with a single member of his once-promising first class. During the day, when he'd been around the others, Charles had done his best to remain strong in the face of all this, even as his students were trickling away. But Hank would never forget the time he had come up to Charles' room one night to show him some prototype or other, only to pause at the door when he heard the broken sobbing from inside.

He'd dropped any facade of still being at all alright after the school had closed, retreating into himself almost completely. By the time Alex had been drafted, the school had been closed a year already, and Charles was a shell of his former self. Hank had tried to look after his dear friend, making sure he got enough to eat and at least attempted to get some sleep, but it had become increasingly challenging as the young professor had retreated into an alcohol and serum-induced fog, more often under the influence than not. It gave him a rough edge he didn't naturally possess, leading him to snap at Hank if he opened his mouth at all. Hank didn't blame him; the world had broken Charles so thoroughly that any reaction of his seemed utterly justified. Even so, it hurt to be snapped at when he was just trying to help, or worse, to be ignored altogether.

"Hank. Where on earth are you going so late at night?"

Startled out of his thoughts, Hank whirled around to see Charles sitting in a chair just within the sitting he'd just passed. He looked just as he always did these days: hair tangled, clothes rumpled, and an empty glass in his hand. He hadn't been eating as well as he should've, and the dark circles under his eyes suggested to Hank that he wasn't sleeping either.

"To bed," Hank replied. "Which is where you should be."

"Why? Are you my mother?" Charles asked in an irate tone.

"No," Hank sighed. Charles was clearly in one of his particularly grouchy, alcohol-fueled moods. He didn't know which he hated more, the grouchy or the simply empty moods. Either way, he knew not to press too hard now. Something told him that they were brittle, frantic last defenses, and without them what little of Charles was left would waste away.

"Even so, Charles, you seem a little tired."

"Oh, do I?" Charles smirked, a gesture that didn't reach his eyes. They remained detached and even a little lost. The overall effect made Charles look far, far younger than a man in his thirties. He'd always looked rather young, though in the past he'd been able to carry himself with a grace that indicated his true age. Now, however, even though his hair was far longer and he'd grown a beard, he looked more like a lost, frightened child than anything.

After a moment, Charles' head went limp against his body, and his breathing deepened slightly. Clearly, the late nights were taking a heavy toll on him. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open and he sloppily tried realigning his posture. Whether the alcohol or the tiredness was kicking in, Hank wasn't sure, but either way, the professor was struggling.

"Perhaps you should try sleeping," Hank suggested, moving closer and taking the glass out of Charles' hand. Another drink was the last thing Charles needed right now. Hypothetically, Hank knew it numbed the pain in Charles' soul just as the serum numbed the pain in his legs. Even so, it did nothing of lasting benefit for Charles. Come to think of it, the serum didn't either, but Hank was more willing to give that to Charles to try to get him a reprieve from all the voices in his head.

"No," Charles replied. "I have enough ghosts while I'm awake. I don't need to face my fears when I'm asleep."

Hank just sighed as he crossed the room and set the glass on the top of a table, remembering the horrific nightmares that had plagued Charles in the weeks after Cuba. Occasionally, he had lost control of his powers, projecting the nightmares to him, and Alex, and Sean. Now, Charles' nightmares stayed within his head, just as they would any normal man's. That didn't make it any easier for him, though. Hank privately wished he could make a serum that would repress nightmares as he had made a serum that would repress Charles' power. The former would be so, so much better for him in the long run. Alas, he'd tried already, and every attempt had failed. The best he could do to help Charles sleep was to shut off the constant voices of the world invading his head, but even that didn't seem to be worth it anymore.

Charles' head slipped forward again, and this time, he slid out of the chair and hit the ground before he woke up. Hank was across the room in seconds, pausing only briefly to switch his appearance. His human form was strong, but his bestial one would always be stronger. And even though Charles was rather lighter than usual judging from his tendency to not eat, Hank still wasn't sure he'd be able to carry him properly.

"Come on, Charles. Bed," Hank declared, scooping him up carefully and turning in the direction of Charles' bedroom.

"Hank, put me down," Charles growled, enunciating every word.

"No," Hank replied. "You need sleep. That's why I started giving you the serum in the first place: so you could sleep."

"Design something to counteract nightmares first. Then I'll sleep all you want."

"There's nothing I can do, Charles. I'm sorry, I really am. But there's nothing."

Hank cursed himself silently as Charles fell silent, wishing there was something more he could do for him. It hurt to see how broken and lost Charles was. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he had genuinely laughed, not bitterly as he'd become inclined to do. It made him angry to see, as well. What had Charles ever done to deserve such a harsh fate? Hank wasn't so blind to think he was perfect, but he knew without a doubt that Charles Xavier was the greatest person he knew.

"I suppose I do need sleep," Charles commented, reservation in his tone, as they got closer to his room.

"Yes," Hank agreed. Striking on sudden inspiration, he asked, "what did your mother used to do for you when you had nightmares? Perhaps I could use one of her methods to help you now."

Oh, dear. Charles was smiling. These days, that was never a good sign. That usually meant he was hiding a particularly painful feeling.

"She hardly knew where my bedroom even was, Hank," Charles replied after a moment, still smiling that horrible, empty smile. "I had to learn early how to deal with nightmares on my own."

"How did you, then?"

"I simply did. Do I have to explain absolutely everything?" Charles snapped, mood suddenly spiraling even further downwards.

"I'm sorry for asking," Hank apologized quickly. Charles sighed and looked away, blue eyes turned towards the ceiling, but unfocused gaze indicating he neither saw nor cared to see what he was looking up at. Even in his bleakest moods, Charles rarely stayed angry with Hank for very long.

_Raven must've been involved,_ Hank thought bitterly. In fact, he was almost certain of it. Charles hadn't even mentioned her name in years, though Hank suspected she was on his mind rather a lot. There was a picture of her on his bedside table, after all. In fact, his particularly nasty moods were sometimes fueled by a subtle reminder of the sister he'd lost. Hank hadn't mentioned her in years either; her loss was painful to him as well as to Charles. However, occasionally, Charles' boundaries would come up particularly quickly. Some days, Hank was reminded of walking through a minefield when he talked to Charles. He never knew what would remind him of Raven. Alas, he still knew relatively little about the former telepath's background. It wasn't exactly the sort of subject Charles talked about these days, and Hank had never really asked before these days had begun. From what little he had deduced from comments or behaviors on Charles' (and sometimes Raven's) part, it had been lonely, just as lonely as the rest of their upbringings. Charles might've grown up with any material needs he'd had satisfied, but that didn't mean that he had had a happy childhood.

Hank soon got to the door to Charles' room, shifting the smaller man carefully in his arms and using one hand to open the door. As always, Charles' room was a mess, full of loose papers and open books, rumpled clothes and empty bottles. On the occasional time that Charles would hit a high (perhaps he was taking other drugs as well without Hank's knowledge. Hank certainly hoped not; Charles was already clearly addicted to the serum and going that way with the alcohol), he'd clean it, then immediately start opening more books and beginning new projects. Of course, his mood and energy levels always worsened within a matter of days, and he'd be back to his brooding self. When he was low (which was most of the time these days), he'd wander the halls of the mansion aimlessly, or occasionally read.

When they reached the bed, Hank set Charles down carefully. He might've preferred it if Charles changed his clothing, but somehow, he doubted that would happen. Instead, he simply took the sheets (currently bunched at the end of the bed) and tucked them around the smaller man.

"Hank, I'm not-"

"Just try, Charles."

Charles closed his eyes, taking a single, long breath. For a moment, the mask he'd been wearing slipped, and Hank could see the genuine fear on his face. Charles was afraid to sleep. Taking the voices away hadn't been enough.

Suddenly, Hank hit upon an idea of his own. When he'd been young and suffering from nightmares, he'd also learned how to deal with them effectively. Perhaps he could help Charles now.

He looked at the stack of books piled on the bedside table (avoiding gazing at Raven's photo; did Charles really have to have that there? It just made them both feel worse about things in the past), some having been there so long they were gathering dust. It had been a long while since Charles had hit a high. He took a better look at each title, finally selecting one of the less grim-looking ones and dusting off the cover.

"Hank?"

"You're right, Charles. I'm not going to make you sleep. But I would like it if you'd listen to me read."

Charles sighed. Clearly, he didn't fully believe Hank. Substance abuse or not, Charles Xavier was still a brilliant man, and his mind was still sharp. However, he didn't protest as Hank began to read the book out loud. Perhaps it was because he was too tired to fight, but perhaps it was because a part of him deep down truly wanted sleep. The younger mutant, though still fairly shy and occasionally prone to stuttering, had learned how to keep his voice steady as he read out loud thanks to his experience as a teacher. Besides, Charles would never fault him for stuttering. Whether it was because he was still very tolerant, or simply because he no longer cared, Hank didn't know. He hoped for the former.

As he read, he occasionally glanced upward, watching Charles. The other mutant at first seemed as disengaged as usual. However, as Hank continued reading, the former telepath almost resignedly directed his attention to the words. And a little while later, as Hank looked back, he realized Charles had given in to tiredness and had allowed himself to be lulled asleep.

Hank finished the chapter for good measure (the book was rather interesting, to be honest), then closed the book, turning to look at Charles. A few of the stress lines had fallen away, leaving him looking slightly younger, slightly happier. However, even in sleep, there was a sadness and loneliness to his face. He'd just lost too much. The world had taken too much of a toll on him.

It wasn't fair.

Hank got up to leave, but then changed his mind at the door. Turning to the window seat, he quietly picked up and moved the stacks of books and the loose papers until the space was clear. Then, he climbed onto it as slowly (and thus as least likely to cause any strange sounds) as possible, settling himself in to be more comfortable. If Charles had a nightmare tonight, he'd be the first to know.

As he drifted off, Hank McCoy realized that he couldn't fix Charles. He couldn't bring back Erik and Raven, resurrect Sean, end the Vietnam war singlehandedly and return all the lost students. He couldn't be expected to find other serums to dull the pain even further, or teach him to love his mutation anew, or anything of the sort. But he could step up and try to care for Charles in his hour of need, just as Charles had for so many others.

After all, if he wouldn't, no one would.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong>_ Hi, folks! Since I'm making no headway with either of my multi-chaptered fics (they're both finished, but the total lack of attention they're getting means that I don't feel much like posting more chapters), I'm just going to stick to oneshots for now. I've decided to publish the three that I'm proudest of today. This is the second one, which I wrote a few days after seeing Days of Future Past last spring. Now, I had expected Charles to have taken his paralysis and abandonment hard. Really hard, in fact. I did not expect him to be quite as much of a miserable, crying mess as he was in the movie. Not that I blamed him in the least; the poor thing had been through a lot. But I digress._

_Anyways, I loved the dynamic between Charles and Hank. Hank really grew up between movies and stepped up to the plate. Thus, this oneshot. Perhaps I'll write more someday. _

**[1]**_ Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't Hank a diplomat by the time of X3? I know that's no longer canon, but he still must've felt similarly in the original timeline. Since he had a rough time of it with the Vietnam War, I have a headcanon that that rough time was what convinced him to go into diplomacy...Sadly, I know almost nothing about the comics, so if any of you know why/if he was a diplomat there, please let me know._

_Also, as usual, I have trouble with titles. If any of you have any suggestions, please let me know._

_As always, I hope you enjoyed it!_


End file.
